Forgotten Blood, Forbidden Blood
by HellCat 1031
Summary: What if there were some things we didn't see in Something Wicked? What if Sam's near miss wasn't the only tragedy that night? What if there had been something, someone else?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: The boys and their gorgeous hazel greens are mine. They're totally, completely, undoubtedly mine. They're mine and nobody can say otherwise. Well, actually not really. It's a nice dream though. Alexandra's mine though. Really._

_AN: This is my first fic, so please be nice. I've written before, but nothing like this. Mostly just papers, poems, and little snippets of those little things that keep me up at night. Reviews would make me happy. They would make me very happy indeed. Tankie much!_

_Summary: You know how in some stories, you have this chick or you have this guy, and they were kidnapped. Taken from the life they knew. Taken from the people they loved. And their memory was taken from them. And they're stuck thinking of what could've been. It's a cliché, an awesome one that you hope won't be present in just this one story. I'm pretty sure, once upon a time, I hoped that too. But, life never asks what we want, to quote Kate Beckinsale from_ Pearl Harbor_. I hope she doesn't mind._

_This is going to have some major tags to _Something Wicked_, and I'm going to try really, really hard not to make my girl a Mary Sue. If anybody notices that I'm treadin' dangerous waters please let me know. Oh, and anybody interested in being a beta for a first-timer?_

_Forgotten Blood, Forbidden Blood_

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to not know who you are? To not know where you come from, who loved you, _if_ they loved you? Do you ever wonder if you had been somebody else, somebody who's so close and so far? A tickle on your memory that's just so damn annoying you'd give anything and everything for it to stop, and even more to ensure that it never will.

I don't have to wonder. I live it everyday. You see, nearly fourteen years ago, my parents found me in the woods. It's not funny, and it's not a lie. It's not this cute little joke that my mother tells whenever I manage to piss her off. It's not a joke _either_ of my parents can tell because for one, my mom was a bit sensitive about it and would do this little 'you say anything about that and I will rip your head off your shoulders and stuff it where the sun don't shine' look, for two, my dad was terrified of her whenever she had aforementioned look, and for three, they've been dead for over eight years.

You know how in some stories, you have this chick or you have this guy, and they were kidnapped. Taken from the life they knew. Taken from the people they loved. And their memory was taken from _them_. And they're stuck thinking of what could've been. It's a cliché, an awesome one that you hope won't be present in _just this one story_. I'm pretty sure, once upon a time, I hoped that too. But, life never asks what we want, to quote Kate Beckinsale from _Pearl Harbor_. I hope she doesn't mind.

So I was kidnapped. And I was abused. I was left to die. I was discovered in an old, abandoned cabin in the middle of Nowheresville Woods. I woke up in the hospital after being in a coma for two months to the sight of this man and this woman sleeping by the side of my bed. I didn't know them, I didn't know where I was, all I had was my name, my age and a vague inkling of what had happened to me.

I was Alexandra, I was eleven years old, and I was a lost child.

Thank God, to contradict the cliché, I wasn't given to an old, strict, smelly, abusive orphanage or placed with an old, strict, smelly, abusive couple, those people I was told rescued me and didn't leave my side for those months, would foster me for the next six years until they died in a car crash on my 17th birthday.

I loved them, and they loved me. They cared for me for the six years we had each other, gave me a home, a place to look forward to coming to. We had our arguments as all families are bound to have, we had our laughs, we had our tears. My mom baked cookies and made chicken soup when we were sick, my dad sat my first boyfriend down and asked him of his intentions, they both stayed up the night of my first dance. I snuck out in my informative years, got wasted once and never again, got caught smoking once and also never again. We were a family. I wasn't their blood, but they made me their daughter.

How could I have asked for more? I was content with my life. I knew what I lost, but I also knew what I had.

I hardly wondered, I rarely wished.

But I still did. I wondered whether there was someone out there missing me, someone looking for me, someone who remembered who we once had been. In the day, I was the happy, carefree and sweet Alexandra-who-just-called-herself-Durance because I had no clue of my last name, foster daughter of Albert and Emily Durance. In the day, I was always laughing, always smiling, always playful Alexa. But sometimes in the night, when no one was around to hear, and no one was around to see, I was a scared little girl who remembered flames and heat and darkness and coldness and a monster growling in the shadows. Sometimes in the night, I wasn't smiling and I wasn't laughing, I was the crying child who could just barely remember shouts of '_Lexy!_' and who wanted to remember what I just couldn't.

Sometimes in the night, I buried my head in my pillow and I hated myself for wondering and for wishing.

to be continued...

_Somebody wanna let me know whether I should continue? Hehe _:)


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I lost the papers that say I own Supernatural and the Winchester boys. But I do! Really!_

_Warnings: Language. Dean's a potty mouth…but we already knew that. Don't think there's anything else._

_Chapter Two - Forgotten Blood, Forbidden Blood_

After placing the coffee and brown paper bag on the table just inside the room, Sam stood leaning against the closed door of the motel room, staring musingly at the motionless, shadowed lump that was his brother. The curtains were drawn, the lights were out, and Dean was in the exact same position he had been when Sam had left two hours before.

Unlike most nights, Dean was sprawled under the covers, and Sam wasn't quite sure whether that big bump near the headboard was his brother's head or feet. Usually, the older Winchester would be on his back, always alert, on the bed closest to the door and right across the window—something that Sam stopped rolling his eyes and huffing over, he knew what battles to pick. This particular older-brother-being-a-bit-too-protective, wasn't one of them and hadn't been since before Sam left for Stanford.

And college had taught him a couple of things.

Several, he mused and smirked, would make Dean just kinda stare all wide-eyed and 'what the fuck!' Something Dean didn't do all that often, and when he did, just made Sam just a little smug and snicker-y.

He wondered whether or not he should apply such learned lessons right then. Crossing his arms over his chest, he continued to regard his brother in such rapt observation that had Dean been awake Sam would've gotten a freaked out 'Dude! What!'

Dean was probably hung-over, he hadn't stepped in the door until just after four in the morning. Which was, Sam glanced at his glowing watch face, just over five hours ago. Well, at least someone had a good time, Sam thought just a bit sourly and shook his head.

He should be nice. He should be a good, obedient, quiet little brother and just let Dean have that free, deep kind of slumber that he so rarely had. God knows their last job was sucker punch that Dean really hadn't needed—that neither of them needed. That Shtriga had left a soreness that Sam usually only felt after one helluva flu bug or one helluva midnight alcohol binge. It had been four days since they had left Fitchburg, Wisconsin and Michael and five days since Dean had told Sam of that night that happened nearly seventeen years before.

Sam had never seen Dean look so…broken like he had while he was telling the story that had ended in Sam nearly dying because of the then nine year old's desire for air and video games. Not even when Dean had been dying of imminent heart failure.

Broken and vulnerable were not words he would normally apply to his cocky, arrogant, smart-assed older brother. They were words a year ago, he would've sworn _could_ never be applied to Dean. But the past couple of months on the road together had opened up a lot more than a supernatural can of worms.

Dean needed his rest, between Sam's run-of-the-mill, go-right-along-there's-nothing-special-here nightmares and Sam's not-so-run-of-the mill, not-so-non-special nightmares, Sam doubted he got much of it.

He knew Dean probably didn't know that Sam was aware of what he was doing. Always playing the guardian, watching out for his little brother with little to no regard for his own health. It was something that always seemed to irk Sam, but, he smiled bitterly, but now he knew why.

Now he knew why his brother had such a "blind faith" in their father, why he always followed the orders that Sam never would've let go by without a bitch or a 'why?'

And he had to say, he didn't think he liked knowing all that much.

Dean was still a pain in the ass, he probably would always be a pain in the ass, but Sam finally understood why better.

But just because he was seeing his brother in a clearer light, because he was finally _letting_ himself see his brother in a clearer light, didn't mean he had to be nice.

So he stood there for another two minutes, finally, with a grin and self-deprecating shrug, he threw the curtains open and tossed the light switch on with a flourish.

"Yo!" He let out a shrill whistle, "Wakey uppy, Sleeping Beauty!"

Dean jerked awake with a startled yelp, "Huh? Wassit?" He leaped out of bed and too late realized that that tight embrace he had felt in his dreams was one layer of blankets wrapped around his body. After an instant with an almost comical look of confusion on his face, after the dull thud of his body hitting the floor, there was silence.

Later, Sam would wonder how his brother, the best hunter he'd seen that wasn't his father, managed that slightly stupid, majorly lazy awakening, but right then…it didn't cross his mind.

A raised eyebrow turned into a grin, that grin turned a snort, that snort turned into a snicker, and that snicker turned into a cackle.

Dean stared in wonderment at the white sheet that was holding his legs hostage, a slight frown on his face before his brother's guffaws and that blinding light registered. He grimaced tightly and lifted a clumsy hand to cover his eyes. He misjudged the distance slightly and cursed when he nearly poked an eye out.

"Dude! The damn light!" Then he winced again when his shout reverberated through his head. "Oh, damn. I'm hung-over. Why am I hung-over? I shouldn't be hung-over." He would've denied that the sound that came out of his throat resembled a whimper. He would've denied it to his dying day.

"Up and at 'em, Sunshine!"

"God, I'll kill you." He groaned pathetically and just dropped back down on the floor, feeling around on the bed and grabbing the first thing that felt vaguely like a pillow. "I don't give a damn if you're my brother. I'll kill you dead. I swear it." His voice was muffled through the object that apparently meant to block any light and sounds. The weak groan seemed to say that it wasn't working all that well.

"Yeah, yeah." Sam snickered. "I'm quakin' in my boots." He rolled his eyes and walked over to his brother. "Got you advil, got you coffee. Now get the hell up before I decide to take my kind, thoughtful, charity back."

He couldn't quite understand what was being mumbled through the pillow, but it he was pretty sure it was meant to be something threatening. Then when the pillow lifted a bit and one blurry, bloodshot, hazel-green eye peeked out, he caught the tail-ending and snickered again.

"Dude, I like you and all, but you're just not my type." He shrugged and managed to sound apologetic. "And you're my brother, that would be illegal."

"Give me the fucking coffee." A rumpled head emerged from under the pillow, a shaky hand reached out from under the sheets and took the coffee and pills that were being offered. "God, you're such a bitch." He dry-swallowed the pills with a wince before gulping the coffee. "Ugh. What the hell is this!"

Sam just couldn't hold back his laugh. There was just such a look of disgusted indignation on Dean's face. "Dude…stop whining."

"Jesus, I'm in agony here. Where's the sympathy?"

"Five minutes of pleasure, Dean."

"Okay, one—you're insulting me, I last a lot longer than five friggin' minutes, two—I'm not a fucking woman, and three—pity me, all right? I'm hung-over."

Sam's only response was a lifted eyebrow.

"Jesus, you're a great brother, Sammy. You're a really great brother." As nasty as that coffee had been, it had managed to clear up the worst of the headache and the nausea. Dean cautiously pushed himself to his feet, and stumbled to the bathroom to the sounds of Sam's laughter. And because of those sounds, he let himself smile just a little.

When Dean stepped back out, fifteen minutes later, he found another cup of coffee waiting on the bedside table. With a careful sip, he realized with a sigh of relief that it wasn't that cheap crap he had drunk earlier.

_Oh, thank you god._ He thought and looked onto the beds. His belongings were packed and his duffel sat at the foot of the bed with a fresh set of clothes right next to it. He rolled his eyes but grinned.

_Yeah, Sammy. Good brother._

He wasn't quite sure if he said it aloud, but when Sam walked back in not two seconds later, the first thing his little brother said was 'don't get used to it.'

He rolled his eyes. "Bitch."

Sam smirked. "Jerk."

_TBC…_

_Reviews? Please?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I still haven't found those papers. _

_Oh come on guys…Supernatural own I not. Characters Supernatural in not I own. Not Supernatural Characters in own do I. Get it? Got it? Okee doke._

_Warnings: Don't think there are any._

_AN: I'm still looking for a beta/editor/really much-needed and wanted help. Any takers? Please? Tankie much!_

_For all those waiting for this, I'm so sorry for the wait. Only the third chapter, and I'm already bogged down with writer's block. That's not very comforting._

_And I thought I had it all planned out. Sigh Oh well…hopefully my muse will not abandon me._

_Chapter Three – Forgotten Blood, Forbidden Blood_

The child was strange, the old man thought as he watched her walk down the street. Always had been.

Even for the things he had seen in his sixty-three years of life, the child was strange. It wasn't just those witch-smoke eyes or that soft, quiet voice. It wasn't just that those eyes seemed to make a person either dream their greatest and fear their worst, or that that voice could calm just as easily as it could torment. It was just her.

It wasn't something you could miss. She was nice enough, sure. Polite and friendly. Ready to lend a hand when one was needed. But there was a darkness in her. Something that wasn't quite evil, but wasn't quite good either. Something that she didn't let out all that often.

That face was just as quick to smile as it was to snarl.

She was pretty enough to have a man. But she turned down all offers. Yet he wouldn't doubt the stories told by the ones she had allegedly bedded. With, what was it that youngsters said these days, _no strings attached_?

But, still. She was very nearly his daughter. God knows, she and his youngest had been two peas in a pod once upon a time. And as such, as the sister of his daughter's heart, it was an old man's god-given right and duty to, what was that other thing? Blast those teenagers; it seemed they made up a language all on their own. _Be all up in her face?_

He couldn't help the small grin as he imagined what his own son and daughter—both grown, and both living their lives—would've done. They would've looked at him, all shocked and indignant. His lovely Amy would probably say something along the lines of '_Dad, I love you. I do, you're my father. But never, ever do that again!'_

Then she'd kiss his cheek with that little impish grin and be gone.

Brandon would roll his eyes and groan, looking around furtively to see if anyone had caught his father's faux pas.

He pulled himself out of his past to focus on the young woman just feet from him.

"Well, well. Look who's out and about and looking pretty as a sunbeam."

He grinned at her laugh. "Good morning, Al."

"I have missed you so, pretty Alexi," Al theatrically inclined as he stood and opened his arms with a flourish. "That delightful smirk; that dry, cutting wit; that long-suffering eyeroll you always grace me with. The exasperated sighs and the resigned head shakes."

Alexa tried to suppress the grin tugging at her lips as she stepped into the waiting embrace. "You wily, old man. Such a way with words. You sure know how to charm a woman. How has Meredith held onto you for so long?"

He laughed. "She's been waiting for the perfect woman to come along and send me to my crotchety, arthritic knees."

"Well, then. Work up those divorce papers. Treat me like the queen I so deserve to be, Mr. Beckworth."

"Albert Edgar Beckworth!"

He and Alexa shared a wince and heavy sigh. "Yes, dear?"

"What are you doing to that poor girl, Albert!"

"Meredith—"

"Don't you Meredith me, old man! Bring her in now! Don't make me come out there and beat you with my spoon."

"I'm just having my fun with her!"

"Albert!"

"Yes, dear."

"You're so whipped." Alexa observed, a brow lifted and a smirk shining.

"Alexandra, don't make me wash that mouth out! Get your pretty little tush in here. And wipe that grin of your face."

Alexa couldn't help the flush. "Yes, Meredith. Sorry, Meredith."

Albert and Alexa once again traded glances, made unique, comical facial expressions that said '_we're in for it now_' and went in to face the Mama Bear.

Meredith Annabelle Graham Beckworth was a tiny woman. She barely topped five feet; her husband towered over her by more than fourteen inches. Her curly russet brown hair was streaked liberally with grey, but her face was youthful and very nearly free of wrinkles despite the fact she was pushing sixty. It was a pixie's face, with quiet blue eyes like a spring lake, pouty lips that could either curl up in a smile or thin in a frown.

It was a face that caused many to call Meredith sweet and soft-hearted, but the hands and lasers that could shoot out of those cornflower eyes spoke of the very, very tough woman who survived hell.

It was those hands that grasped Alexa's face, and it was those eyes that stared into Alexa's for so long that Alexa fidgeted.

Out of nowhere, a huge smile broke out over Meredith's face. "There we go." She stroked Alexa's cheeks softly, "How are you, my dear?"

Alexa narrowed her eyes, "Why do I have the feeling you know what kind of underwear I'm wearing?"

"Oh sweetie, don't be ridiculous." When a fine eyebrow arched, that angel's smile became a little more…devilish. "Oh fine. Darling, why do you need black lacey Victoria's Secret—"

The color fled out of Alexa's cheeks as she glanced furtively at Al's grinning face then the red exploded back on again. "Uh uh…let's not continue that, please?" Then she paused, "And it's plum."

Meredith let out something Alexa would've called a snort. "I'm colorblind."

Al made a choking sound in his throat.

Meredith sent him a deadly look, "Are you alright, dear?"

"Oh, I'm fine, my love." He coughed once and cleared his throat before looking up at the ceiling and whistling innocently.

"If you say so, dear." Then she turned back to Alexa, "Well, Alexandra, what have you been up to lately? Meet any nice young men?"

Alexa wrinkled her nose, "Ugh, I don't think I want another man in my life. Same old, same old." She eyed the cough just behind Meredith. Should she? Would she make to Chris in time?

Meredith started waving her hands, "Of course you'll make it to Christopher in time. Sit down, sit down. You're not leaving us so soon." She dragged Alexa over and sat them both down on the plush cushions. "We missed you too much."

Alexa snickered, "Meredith, you spent three weeks in Hawaii! I highly doubt you missed me between the sun, the shine, the mai tais, and the beaches."

Meredith winked, "And it was quite enjoyable, just let me say."

The younger woman looked like she was musing over it, "I think I will." She shrugged self-deprecatingly, "But only because I have no exciting life. The one I do have…I have to live vicariously."

"That's not what Julie Ross's boy says." Al groaned as he lowered himself unto the couch.

"Julie Ross's boy better watch what comes out of his mouth." Meredith decided, "Else somebody might take it upon themselves to do it for him. I remember that boy when he was younger. He used to be such a sweetheart."

Alexa couldn't help herself, that derisive huff just escaped.

"Now, now, Alexandra. Let's not be like that, huh? Hopefully, a nice girl will come along and show him the error of his ways." Meredith looked at her pointedly.

She smiled sweetly, "That girl, Meredith, will not be me."

"And here I thought you liked a challenge, Alexandra."

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, "Low blow, Al, low blow." Then she patted Meredith's knee, "Now, I really gotta go. I need to go get Chris, then we'll start over for Kyleigh's practice. Hopefully we can make the last hour or so." She leaned to kiss the older woman's cheek, then hugged Al. "I'll be by later okay?" She stood up and prepared to leave before Meredith grabbed her hand.

"Be sure of it, we brought some stuff back. And don't tell me you're walking?"

Alexa's eyes lit up with delight, "Really? What is it?"

Meredith laughed and patted her butt. "Your incentive to come back. Now, be on with you. And bring those little angels over."

She smiled affectionately, "I don't need the promise of presents to bring me back here, Mere. Your cookies and tantalizing company do it just as well. And 'those little angels'. Are we talking about the same people here? And what about me?"

"On with you, lovely!" Meredith smacked again.

"Ow! Al, I'm being abused! You're just gonna sit there!"

Al winked, "I have a very healthy sense of self-preservation."

Alexa rolled her eyes, "My God, chivalry really _is_ dead." When Meredith made a sweeping motion with her hand again, Alexa let out a mock squeak. "I'm leaving! Bye!"

And blowing a kiss over a shoulder followed up by a saucy wink, she left.

Meredith looked at Al, Al raised an eyebrow at her. "That girl." Was what they said in unison.

To be continued….


End file.
